


From the Flames Within

by TheGirlWhoSawImagination



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison's Mother is Different From Canon, Also Explanations on That Later, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe After 1x01, Derek Has His Hands Full, Different Teen Wolf Myths than Canon, Eventual True Alpha Scott McCall, Explanations WAY Later On That, F/M, First Chapter Is Kinda Rushed But Oh Well, Hellhound Scott McCall, Lydia Is Already a Banshee From 1x01, M/M, No Kitsunes, Or Eventual Threesome Anyways, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rafe and Melissa Are Still Together, Single Parent Chris, Slowburn-ish Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Werefox Stiles Stilinski, tags to be added when needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 18:27:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12138471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGirlWhoSawImagination/pseuds/TheGirlWhoSawImagination
Summary: AU. A few differences can change everything; a single night can, too. When Scott and Stiles get separated in the woods, both get bitten by the Alpha. And, while Stiles becomes a werefox, Scott dies that night, only to return as a hellhound. Now, whilst learning about being a harbinger of death, Scott McCall is going to be walking down a much different path than he should've.~~~Currently in Season 1! Update schedule unknown at the moment.Originally posted on AO3.





	From the Flames Within

**Author's Note:**

> I'm posting this on here earlier than I will/did on Fanfiction.net, for two reasons. First of all, it has been a LOOOONG time since I last posted anything fanfiction wise, and I want to get used to posting on this platform as well as the other one. Secondly, I know that the Teen Wolf fandom is more active on here than it is on Fanfiction.net, and thus, those who read this on here will be my "guinea pigs", if you will, to see if this is well-liked or not.
> 
> The main pairing, obviously, is Scott/Isaac/Allison. I have always really loved those three together, and it'll be interesting to write out their relationship in the way that I am planning it. Any other pairings will be added as they appear; the same goes for characters. Also, relationships that become past (a few will, I assure you), will be deleted and not added back, so please don't be surprised if you see one of the relationships go missing from the tags section.
> 
> Each chapter furthermore has a "Listening to" section in the notes for that specific chapter as well, if you're interested. Personally, I don't like listening to music while reading, but everybody is different! =P Spoken sections in bold (save for spoken text if it is in the first sentence of the chapter) are also taken from the episode itself, which shall also be in the specific chapter notes. (DISCLAIMER NOW: I DON'T OWN THE WORDS THAT ARE LIKE THAT!)
> 
> Other than that (Goddess, did that sound serious!), all I have left to say is that I hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter is kind of rushed - sorry about that. I'm trying to get back into writing non-First POV fiction, fan or otherwise, as I have been MAJORLY practicing that while I have been on hiatus. HOWEVER, I do want to point out that I successfully made a 10-minute scene turn into a nearly 4,000 word chapter, which I am happy about. ^-^
> 
> This is also going to be one of the few (if not the only) chapters posted in dual-3rd Person POV. Normally, I don't like writing two POVs in one chapter, but while this is going to be Scott-centric for the most part, Stiles matters, too. Anybody from the Pack (which is, currently, Scott, Stiles, Lydia, Allison, and Isaac) is fair game for a POV chapter, though, so don't expect it to be Scott's and Stiles' POVs only.
> 
> The phrases said by Scott and Stiles are taken from the first episode of season 1, "Wolf Moon". DISCLAIMER HERE: in no way are the phrases said mine. They belong to Jeff Davis, Tyler Posey, and Dylan O'Brien. I only manipulated them to show the similarities and differences to canon...and, to be honest, they are the best words to put down.
> 
> Other than that, enjoy!
> 
> Listening to: "Of the Mountains" by Dan Deacon
> 
> ~Selene B/TGWSI

_**~Scott~** _

 

 **It was the night before school started back up in the town of Beacon Hills, and things were going about just as they were expected to be.** Parents were going to bed, the constant nagging worry about their kids nudging their minds as they fell asleep, and the high schoolers were still awake, both dreading the start of school and being excited for it. Lacrosse players were readying up their gear, many hoping to prove themselves and to get on First Line. And then there was the sheriff’s department at work yet again…as well as more **_sinister_** things that go bump in the night, especially during a nearly full full moon.

 

In the bedroom of a certain house in Beacon Hills, a sixteen-year-old boy sat on his bed, threading together the ropes of his lacrosse stick. He had black hair that was slightly curly at its tips, dark brown eyes, and a nicely tanned skin tone, although his jaw was slightly crooked. His room was a mess – which, as many mothers would say, is typical of teenaged boys – but on the room’s walls were plenty of framed photos. Pictures of the boy from a young age to a small time before the present, featuring a man with slicked back hair that was obviously his father, a woman with curly black hair that was obviously his mother, another boy with a mole-speckled face and brown hair, and that other boy’s parents.

 

Also in the room was a chin-up bar in the door frame connecting his bedroom and its connected bathroom, a desk with a chair and computer, and a small bookshelf containing novels of the fantasy genre (along with a few comic books, but only at his best friend’s insistence).

 

But, for now, the boy’s sole attention was on his lacrosse stick, which he handled with great care and determination. Yes, like many other players, Scott McCall was **_determined_** to get on the First Line of the Beacon Hills High School lacrosse team that year. Last year, he had the excuse of being a freshman, but this year, he had been continuously telling himself over the summer, would be different…asthma and human inconsistencies be damned.

 

Of course, if any of his classmates who didn’t know him well were asked to describe him, he knew they would say otherwise. Scott was, even with his excellent grades, barely noticeable to his peers, except for that one time he had to go to the hospital due to an asthma attack last year. It was just how things at high school went; nobodies like him weren’t supposed to be First Line, weren’t supposed to even be on the lacrosse team.

 

His thoughts made him tug on the ropes harder. _This year will be different_ , he told himself for the umpteenth time.

 

After making sure that the ropes were secure, Scott got up and threw his stick back onto his bed, before walking over to his chin-up bar and doing a few of the exercise, as was his nightly routine. Then, as also per usual, he brushed his teeth and washed his face, ready to get a good night’s sleep for the first day of practice tomorrow, when something **_unusual_** happened.

 

Out of nowhere, Scott heard the tell-tale sign of something – someone? – thumping around directly outside his house. Looking behind him, he paused, a million and one thoughts going through his head. What was it? He knew his father, Rafe McCall, could come home from a mission for the FBI at random times during the night, but it didn’t sound like the closing of a car door…nor did it sound like his friend’s Jeep, as God knew how many times his best friend liked to take him away on “adventures” during the night.

 

Remembering his dad’s words about keeping his mother safe, the soon-to-be sophomore quickly shrugged on a shirt, jeans, jacket, a pair of socks, and his shoes, before grabbing the metal baseball bat from the closet and gripping it tightly.

 

However, when he got outside, an odd sight greeted Scott’s eyes – through the darkness, he didn’t see anything that could’ve caused the noise that he had heard. Nervously, he gripped the baseball bat even tighter. Of course, his dad had to go on a mission a few weeks before school, and thus he’d be unable to ward off an attack by a murderer or someone to that effect himself…

 

“Agh!” Scott screamed as a very familiar person dropped down from the patio roof in front of him. Instantly, he raised the bat, and both that and his own scream caused the boy hanging from the roof to scream as well, his arms flailing about as he struggled to maintain his own balance. The two boys screamed for a moment or two longer, before both stopped at the same time. **“Stiles, what the hell are you doing?”**

 

The other boy, Stiles, scoffed. His mole-covered face and nearly-shaved brown hair immediately gave him away as the boy from the pictures in Scott’s room. ****“You weren’t answering your phone,”** ** he said matter-of-factly, whilst eying the baseball bat curiously. ****“Why do you have a bat?”****

 

**“I thought you were a predator!”**

 

Stiles scoffed again. **“A pre – I – wha –** okay, **look, I know it’s late, but you gotta hear this. I saw my dad leave twenty minutes ago; dispatch called. They’re bringing in every officer from the Beacon Department, and even the state police.”**

 

Scott blinked, the idea of getting a good night’s sleep for lacrosse practice tomorrow momentarily forgotten. Beacon Hills was a small town, even if it was supposed to be the capital of their county, and so it wasn’t often that such a call came in. He knew that especially well, being the best friend of the sheriff’s son and all that. **“For what?”** he questioned after a moment.

 

Said best friend smirked, then said as he got himself down from the roof, **“Two joggers found a body in the woods.”**

 

The darker-haired boy frowned. **“A dead body?”**

 

Stiles looked up at him. **“No, a body of water,”** he said sarcastically. **“Yes,** a dead body, **dumbass!** They didn’t give any details, just that it was a girl – probably in her twenties.”

 

 **“Hold on, if they found the dead body, then what are they looking for?”** Scott asked.

 

His best friend grinned wryly, his excitement obvious. **“That’s the best part; they only found half.** And before you say anything about your parents and my dad coming after us to ground our asses,” he quickly added, noticing Scott’s facial expression. **“We’re going.** No rain-checks this time, bro.”

 

With that, the mole-speckled boy grabbed onto Scott’s wrist and half-pulled, half-dragged him to his blue Jeep. Scott grumbled, but nevertheless complied, knowing better than to refuse his friend. However, just before he got into the Jeep, the black-haired boy took one last, clear look at the night sky – at the full moon.

 

 ** _Something was going to happen tonight,_** he knew it. **_Something that would change his life forever._**

* * *

 

Roughly a ten minutes’ drive later, they reached the Beacon Hills Preserve, which looked much more ominous in the dark than it did during the daytime. It was, actually, one of the reasons why the preserve was always closed to the public during the dark hours; that, and there had been a brief surge of murders in the forest surrounding the town roughly ten to seven years ago.

 

After Stiles parked his Jeep at an entrance to the preserve that wasn’t close to the police cars, both boys scrambled out of the older vehicle and walked towards the woods. **“We’re seriously doing this?”** Scott asked yet again, his nerves tingling with energy of excitement and fear.

 

 **“You’re the one always bitching that nothing ever happens in this town,”** Stiles pointed out, turning on his flashlight and stepping ahead of Scott, but not before patting his best friend’s shoulder reassuringly, first.

 

The black-haired boy’s ever-so-present frown deepened. “I don’t bitch, first of all,” he retorted. “Second of all, I was trying to go to sleep early. You know, for lacrosse tomorrow.”

 

 **“Right, ‘cause sitting on the bench is such** hard work. And you do bitch - **_ow!_** Don’t throw your inhaler at me!”

 

Scott grinned as Stiles glared at him, but the brown-haired boy kindly held out the former’s inhaler with a huff. “You’re lucky I’m such a good friend,” he said with a mock-haughtily tone. “Otherwise, I would’ve thrown your stupid inhaler into the woods, even if it is eighty bucks.”

 

Taking his inhaler back, Scott shook it up and used it, his asthma already getting to him. **“Just out of curiosity,”** he began after getting his breathing under control. **“Which half of the body are we looking for?”**

 

He saw Stiles frown, and then it was his turn to smirk, as he knew his best friend so well that he knew the other boy hadn’t most likely planned that far ahead. **“Huh,”** the other boy said with a frown, pausing momentarily in his walking – **_hiking_** , was more like it. **“I didn’t even think about that.”**

 

Scott chuckled slightly. **“And, uh, what if whoever killed the body is still out here?”**

 

 **“…Also something I didn’t think about,”** Stiles admitted, before he stopped walking and groaned. “Dammit, Scott! Why do you have to be such a smartass?”

 

“I thought I was a dumbass,” he quipped, and then used his inhaler again. “Besides, I’m not the one that decided to take us out to look for a dead body in the middle of the night.”

 

Stiles turned to look at him then, a sarcastic retort obviously on the tip of his tongue, when he suddenly froze in place. The brown-haired boy’s eyes widened, and his pale face seemed to turn even paler in the light of his torch. When Scott tried to ask him what was wrong, Stiles slapped a hand around his mouth, and hissed a “shush” at him, before adding, “Do you hear that?”

 

Both fell silent as Stiles kept his hand around Scott’s mouth and the latter boy strained to hear what the former had heard. Finally, after several more moments, he heard it, too; in the not-so-far distance, there was a distinct howl. A howl that sounded like a wolf’s, and it chilled Scott to the bones and made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

 

As if reading his mind, his best friend nodded. “It sounds like a wolf, but wolves haven’t been in California for over sixty years,” he whispered. Then, he moved his hand from Scott’s mouth and to the boy’s wrist. “…And it’s getting closer! C’mon, we need to get out of here!”

 

With Stiles leading the way, the two boys ran deeper into the forest, Scott’s heart beating in his ears as they nearly tripped several times over fallen leaves, dead branches, and twisted roots. He found himself gasping for breath again, and he anxiously got out his inhaler once more and used it two times, but it did nothing to calm his frightened mind.

 

What if they ended up just like the body? What if they died out here, mercilessly killed by a sociopath so that his or her secret would never be unveiled? Seemingly endless scenarios popped into his mind, and **_never_** had Scott felt such fear like he did now.

 

However, things soon took a turn from bad to very, **_very_** much worse. For, while Stiles wasn’t exactly fit and decidedly spent most of his time working on becoming even paler than he already was, Scott was both unfit and had severe asthma. Thus, he would later suppose, what happened next was inevitable.

 

Gasping again, the black-haired boy raised his arm up to use his inhaler again, his chest aching and protesting the unfair treatment that was being put upon it. But, just as he put his inhaler to his lips, both he and Stiles stumbled over a very large root. And, both screaming, their clasped hands came apart. Scott fell backwards, landing on the leaf-covered slope, the dead leaves crackling underneath him as he tumbled down, before coming to a stop at the bottom.

 

For several moments, he didn’t move, too shocked and too winded to. Pain radiated all across his body from the fall, and his breath was coming out in short, ragged breaths. But then, he remembered that he didn’t know where Stiles was, nor did he know where his inhaler had wound up. With those thoughts in mind, he sprang up, still feeling like he was slowly suffocating to death. “ ** _Stiles_**?” he breathed, looking around and trying to make out his friend in the dark. “Stiles, where are you?”

 

When there was no response, Scott internally cursed and then got out his phone. At the very least, he needed to find his inhaler so that he could use it and then go searching for his best friend. Using his phone’s screen as a flashlight of his own, he tried to find the familiar white and purplish-blue device, until something else caught his eye.

 

Upon inspection, he screamed again and fell back, his dark brown eyes wide as he looked at what was in front of him, his phone’s light still illuminating the horrible sight for him to see. As if getting lost in the woods and separated from his best friend wasn’t enough – not to mention, they were running from a **_killer_** on the loose – there was the other half of the body that the police had to be looking for, blood splattering her dead face and her torso being nothing but a twisted pile of gore. Her glassy, dark green eyes seemed to stare into his very soul, even as he backed up and actually wished for the first time that night that it was all a dream.

 

Scott quickly got back up and ran deeper into the forest, his phone now turned off but still clutched tightly within his hand. Screw his inhaler; surely his dad and his mom, Melissa McCall, would understand why he left it behind? After all, he was positive that his life was worth more than a stupid, eighty-buck inhaler.

 

Tears were threatening to leak out of his eyes when he heard the howl again, except this time, it was much, much closer than before. If he didn’t die to the person that had killed that poor woman, then he was **_most definitely_** going to die to whatever was chasing after him, whether it be a wolf or a screwy coyote. And even if he didn’t die tonight, he was going to have nightmares that he was sure were going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

 

 _God, Stiles, please don’t die, too,_ he thought. _If I’m going to die tonight, then at least let him live._

 

**_BAM!_ **

 

Before he could even think anything else, a much heavier and stronger body collided into his own. He screamed for the last time as the creature – it **_couldn’t_** be human, not with that strength and not with those **_red eyes_** – pinned him to the ground by his back. Desperately, he tried to escape, grasping at the dead leaves and twigs on the ground, but to no avail.

 

Pain blossoming on his side and a sickening **_crunch_** both told him that the monster had bitten him, its jaws clamping down hard on Scott’s flesh. But then, just as he was ready to be snapped in half, the creature seemingly left, the sound of footsteps bounding off into the night. Scott groaned as he wormed his arm down to the bite, suddenly feeling very weak. Hot blood gushed between his fingers, and at a rate that was, frankly, quite alarming.

 

He turned his head up to the sky, although he knew that the moon was nowhere in sight. With one last groan, Scott McCall passed out, unaware of the beating of his own heart…

 

**_…Thump, thump, thump…thump, thump, thump…_ **

 

**_…Thump, thump…thump, thump…thump, thump…_ **

 

**_…Thump…thump…thump…_ **

 

…Not even when it stopped.

 

However, when Scott McCall’s heart thumped for the “last time”, something strange happened within him. Though he was not quite aware of it, as his body laid there, lifeless, something long-dormant activated itself. Like a match, it quickly lit itself aflame, and spread itself to the rest of the poor teen’s body. At first, he did not react; the blood loss was getting to be too much, although it was quickly scabbed over by the match.

 

And then, minutes after his heart had stopped and his last breath had left him, Scott **_opened his eyes_**. Eyes that were colored a glowing, ember-like orange, instead of the dark brown that he had been born with. His body quickly heated up in temperature, becoming nearly fire-hot, until he actually **_did_** light on fire. All but his plaid boxers burned away, and his skin quickly got covered in soot. Vein-like fissures of fire erupted all over his body as well.

 

The boy gasped for air, but not due to asthma. As the man that had changed him went off into the night, Scott got up, and walked slowly towards the general direction of Beacon Hills, but as something else entirely from the human boy that he was just minutes before.

 

And, in a house in Beacon Hills, a beautiful girl woke up from her dreams, screaming.

* * *

**_~Stiles~_ **

 

 

**Stiles felt like the biggest dick in the world.**

 

Of course, in retrospect, taking his best friend out into the middle of the woods to look for half of a body wasn’t the brightest idea in the world. Hell, going out there by himself **_definitely_** wasn’t the brightest idea in the world, and neither was listening to the police calls in the middle of the night, hoping for something other than the mundane drunk driver or the idiotic gas station thief.

 

Even if Scott always said it for him, his best friend was nevertheless right; **_nothing ever happened in Beacon Hills_**. There was no adrenaline rush in saving the day like a badass from villains – okay, so **_maybe_** he did grow up reading too many comic books – because there were no villains to catch. So, when he heard the call come in about half of a body found by two joggers in the woods, you can bet your ass that he instantly decided to go and investigate.

 

However, now he was desperately wishing that he hadn’t, as now both his life and Scott’s were at sake…they were at risk for being murdered in a horrid, gruesome fashion, and it was all his fault. He shouldn’t have brought Scott out here, shouldn’t have lost his grip on the other boy’s hand. If his best friend died that night, Stiles knew that he would never forgive himself.

 

But now, now he and Scott were separated and he had no idea where the black-haired boy was. After they had both stumbled over that ridiculously large root and lost their grip on each other, Stiles had fallen down the hill, tumbling a few – or maybe **_a lot_** – times too many to be good for his health. When he landed, he was on the ground, his body aching all over.

 

And then he had heard the distinctive sound of Scott screaming.

 

“Scott? Scott!” he yelled, immediately springing to his feet, his eyes wide as he looked around for his best friend.

 

He continued to stumble through the darkness, trying to remember where the sound of Scott’s voice had come from, but he was too terrified to remember. Fake echoes seemed to come from all around, and nervously he tugged on his extremely short hair. _We’re both going to die,_ Stiles thought miserably, as he tried to listen for his best friend’s voice again. Whether the other boy yelled his name out, screamed, or somehow caught up to him, he wanted to hear it, but none of it was to any avail. All he could hear was his own breathing, and the rustling of the dead leaves in the forest. So, he trudged on, gripping at the sleeves of his jacket uncomfortably.

 

And then, **_he heard it_**. The howl of the wolf – _not a wolf_ , he corrected himself, _a bat-shit insane wolf wannabe_ – had returned, its haunting song farther away than before. But, that did nothing to deter Stiles; instead, he started to run in the opposite direction of the howl, as if the hounds of hell were upon him. “Shit!” he cursed under his breath. _I have to find Dad! I need to find him so he can stop whatever the fuck is out here!_

 

The dead leaves crackled underneath his feet, and his heart quickened with fear, for he had no idea where he was going or how to find his father in the first place. He wasn’t doing a good job at being as silent as he could possibly be, but then again, he had never been good at doing that anyways, and the fucking beast that was after him could probably smell him by his fear alone.

 

_God, I don’t wanna die at sixteen years old! I haven’t even lost my virginity yet! Or my first kiss, for that matter! God, somebody save –!_

 

His thoughts were suddenly halted as his foot caught on yet another root. Unable to hold back the yelp that escaped from his lips, Stiles crashed to the forest floor, nearly biting off his own tongue in the process. He verbally cursed his luck as he scrambled to get up, but then froze in place as a low growl reached his ears.

 

The brown-haired boy’s body refused to move when those blood red eyes locked onto him, any other features of the creature obscured by the darkness. On his hands and knees, he sat there, terror most likely pouring out of every orifice in his body. Then, not on his own accord, Stiles grabbed the pocket knife he had grabbed from the sheriff’s department and held it out in front of him weakly. “Stay back!” he warned, his voice cracking…

 

…But, it happened too fast for him to see. One moment, the creature was hidden in the darkness, and the next, it was on top of him, and its strong jaws were tearing into his shoulder. Stiles screamed, then launched the pocket knife into the beast, which also caused it to groan. The best he could see of his attacker in that moment were barely-lit humanoid features, before it was suddenly gone.

 

Pain seared from his shoulder, and it wasn’t the first time that the boy was thankful for having such a high pain tolerance. Grasping at the injury, he got to his feet, and then, he, too, stumbled off into the night, desperate to find his best friend and then to get the hell out of the woods. However, after over three hours and not finding Scott, Stiles ran back to his Jeep, hoping that the black-haired boy had already gotten out of the woods, uncaught.

 

Little did he know, but Scott McCall had died that night. And, little did he know, his life – along with Scott’s – would **_never_** be the same again.


End file.
